


One More Day is Not Enough

by kuhlaine



Category: Glee
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-07
Updated: 2019-02-18
Packaged: 2019-10-24 04:14:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,934
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17697464
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kuhlaine/pseuds/kuhlaine
Summary: Kurt Hummel's rise from social outcast to co-captain of the illustrious Cheerio's is anything but cliche. What's exceedingly bland is his best friend, Quinn Fabray's, new relationship with McKinley's latest all star quarter back, Blaine Anderson. However, Blaine's wandering eye for his girlfriend's second in command keeps things from being anything but ordinary.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Whoa check it out it's a new fic, fun!
> 
> Major shout out to the motherof4dragons for being my beta! Happy reading!

Kurt Hummel prides himself on a number of his qualities. He prides himself on his sense of style, his ability to spy the best bargains from a mile away, his flexibility, his strictly regimented skin routine — but what he values most is his ability to not fall for the cliché traps of small town living. Lima, Ohio is nothing if not a town full of stereotypes and clichés waiting to be fulfilled. Hardly anyone leaves Lima, and those who do don’t often go very far. There was once a rumor during Kurt’s sophomore year that a senior, Brett, had taken off in his car one night and headed for San Francisco. This was quickly debunked when Brett reappeared two weeks later, revealing that he’d been living under a bridge the entire time to try and see how long he could go without sleeping.

Kurt fancies himself the exception to the Lima trap. He’s openly gay, which in and of itself is an achievement in such a town. What’s more notably impressive is his climb to the top of the social food chain despite the initial set back of revealing his sexuality to his close-minded peers. He’d been taken under the wing of the infamous Coach Sylvester, who had seen potential in him, and plucked him straight out of the ranks of his fellow pedestrian students to try out for the Cheerios.

At the time, Kurt had spent hours weighing the pros and cons of trying out for the infamous cheer squad. The Cheerios were social royalty — their signature red uniform demanded respect from boys, girls, and teachers alike. There was little the Cheerios couldn’t get away with in a school so dominated by archetypal high school hierarchies. But the Cheerios had never had a boy on the team before — there was no guarantee that they would react kindly if Kurt was granted a spot on the team.

In the end, that single try out was undoubtedly the best decision Kurt had made in his high school career. It had taken some time for him to win over the Cheerio’s — Quinn Fabray, their unchallenged leader — in particular. Strangely enough, the two became good friends — Quinn was the kind of friend Kurt had been waiting for all along, someone charismatic and willing to listen. For the first time in his high school career Kurt didn’t feel alone. With Quinn came the respect of the rest of the Cheerio’s, and before he knew it he’d formed his own clique — just like the ones he’d rolled his eyes at just months ago. He, Quinn, and their fellow Cheerios Brittany and Santana, ruled the halls of McKinley High with iron fists. It wasn’t a cliché, Kurt told himself, it was a story of triumph.

And in mere minutes he was going to have another triumph under his belt…

“And in first place, keeping their National Cheer Squad Champion title, we have the McKinley High Cheerios!”

The win wasn’t unexpected, but Kurt and Quinn still leapt into the air, wrapping their arms around each other tightly and pulling Santana and Brittany into their celebratory hug. It was their second championship title that they’d secured together — the fourth consecutive championship for the Cheerios overall. Coach Sylvester had worked them to the bone the second school had let them out for the summer to ensure that they were in prime shape for the competition in August. The competition, along with the everyday worried thoughts that came with entering one’s senior year of high school, had hung over the Cheerios the entirety of the summer.

But now they were free, cheering and screaming as the crowd let out a deafening round of applause. Kurt ached all over, his joints screaming in protest as he and his teammates continued to bounce with excitement. Every muscle in his body begged him to finally let it rest but the adrenaline pumping through him said otherwise. There are tears of joys in their teammates eyes and even Coach Sylvester looks over at her squad with pride. They’re being shuffled off the stage, comically large trophy in hand, when the members of the football team that had come out to support the Cheerios slide up to them.

“Well it looks like congratulations are in order,” announces Sam Evans, wrapping an arm around Brittany, ignoring the dirty look Santana shoots his way.

“Party tonight at my place to celebrate?” Finn Hudson offers, glancing between Kurt and Quinn — looking for the official approval.

“Promise your mom won’t crash and make us toss out our drinks for soda this time?” Kurt replies with a raised brow, the group snickering at the all too familiar memory of how the last party Finn threw had gone.

“That was _one_ time,” Finn protests while throwing his hands in the air. “And yes, I promise. My mom’s out of town this time,” Finn tacks on in an attempt to save face.

Kurt rolls his eyes before shooting Quinn a look, but it’s clear from the way she’s looking around the auditorium that she’s preoccupied.

“Finn, have you seen—”

Before Quinn can finish her question she’s tackled from behind by none other than her boyfriend — the McKinley Titans’ all star quarterback, Blaine Anderson. Quinn giggles as Blaine plants a sloppy kiss to her cheek, pulling her up into the air and twirling her proudly.

“Q, you killed it out there!” Blaine praises before releasing his hold on Quinn and giving her a proper congratulatory kiss.

“Spare us the show, haven’t we already suffered enough today?” Santana pleads on behalf of the group.

Kurt, Santana, and Brittany had had to sit through plenty of PDA when it came to Quinn’s former boyfriends, most notably Finn, but thus far they hadn’t had any issues with Blaine. Granted, Blaine had arrived at McKinley midway through the previous year and hadn’t even made his relationship with Quinn official until the last week of the school year. They’d barely seen him at all, but from what Quinn had told them during their summer training sessions she and Blaine had seen plenty of each other over the course of the summer.

“We’ll save it for the party and charge anyone who wants to look,” Blaine easily teases right back, Santana smirking at his quick response.

“Finally, Quinn finds herself a man who speaks my language.” Santana offers Blaine a high five which he gladly accepts, solidifying his place in her good graces.

Finn and Sam agree to text them the details of the party, giving the squad one last round of congratulations before heading their separate ways. Kurt and the girls make plans to meet up at Quinn’s place to get ready before the party before they go their separate ways. Santana and Brittany link pinkies and make their way to where Brittany’s mom is waiting for them, holding a celebratory platter of lemon squares, while Quinn gleefully bounds over to her parents, Blaine faithfully in tow behind her. She accepts a bouquet of lilies from her father, and a kiss on the cheek from Blaine with the widest grin a girl can muster. She’s the picture of happiness, so wonderfully filled with joy that Kurt can’t help but smile along with her even though there’s no one waiting in the lobby for him.

His father wasn’t a fan of the changes he’d seen in his son since he rocketed to the top of the social food chain. He’d become shorter with his father, more annoyed when he held strong on the rules they’d had in place for years. Suddenly Kurt found his 9pm curfew unfair, never alerted his dad when he would stay over at a friends, and abandoned his yearly summer job at the auto shop for cheerleading practices. Burt wasn’t the confrontational type, but he had his ways of making his feelings clear. His lack of presence when it came to competitions and performances was one of them.

Kurt brushes off all thoughts of his father as he gives Quinn a wave goodbye before heading out to his car. The last thing he needs is thoughts of his dad disrupting his adrenaline high. He cranks up the radio and sings along to every song he knows as he makes his way home, throwing all of his lingering energy into giving his car the performance of a lifetime. An old man honks his horn and gives Kurt a thumbs up as he finishes off his performance of Shallow and he even smiles back, letting himself believe that the old man's wandering eye is flattering as opposed to creepy.

His dad is thankfully still out at the shop by the time Kurt pulls into the driveway, no doubt Burt’s attempt at avoiding a tense conversation over the competition. Kurt takes full advantage of having the house to himself as he throws himself into his post-competition routine. He indulges in a steaming hot shower, continues belting out his favorite top forty hits, and lathers his skin in the overly priced hydrating oils that he saves for special occasions.

Before he heads over to Quinn’s he ambles over to his dad’s liquor cabinet. His dad is seldom out this late, so he might as well take every advantage he has. He pours a bit of rum, the most noticeably untouched bottle, into a flask he typically kept hidden in his sock drawer, resisting the urge to take a quick swig before heading out — underage drinking he can endorse, but not before driving.

Even without that stolen sip Kurt is buzzing by the time he gets to Quinn’s place. On the car ride over he gives himself a moment to revel in the glory of it all. Nearly three years ago he’d been terrified of his classmates — keeping to himself as much as he possibly could in the hopes that he would be left alone. People like Kurt were the perfect target for the hormonal teenage imbeciles that ruled the school. The further out of sight he was, the better. Now he here he was, firmly in the sight of every McKinley student. There was a hardly a student, freshman or senior, that didn’t know about him and his rise to fame. Life is sweet, he thought. So wonderfully, perfectly sweet.

* * *

When Kurt walks into Quinn’s bedroom he can immediately sense the tension in the air. Brittany is delicately braiding Santana’s hair — her own blonde locks tied up in an intricate halo of intertwined braids. Santana is attempting to fill in her brows, but is neglecting her mirror in favor of glaring at Quinn, leaving her with a painfully thick left brow.

Quinn, meanwhile, is completely oblivious to it all, giggling and resting her head on Blaine’s shoulder. Wait — Blaine?! Kurt does a double take so swiftly it jolts a muscle in his neck and he has to struggle to hide his wince as he steps into the room. Santana shoots him a knowing look, and Brittany gives him a tight lipped smile. Quinn doesn’t acknowledge Kurt’s presence, still consumed by giggles over whatever it is Blaine’s done that’s brought her so much joy.

Blaine is equally oblivious, looking at Quinn like she’s the sun and the moon, grinning from ear to ear. He only looks up when Santana clears her throat, chasing the stars from his eyes to look up and catch sight of Kurt, frozen in the doorway.

“Took you long enough!” Quinn chastises as she leaps out of Blaine’s arms to run to Kurt.

She gives him a kiss on each cheek and Kurt can smell the fruity notes of wine on her breath, her lips leaving sugar-sticky marks in their wake.

“I like to drive sober, sue me,” Kurt replies dryly.

“Admirable,” Blaine comments from his place on Quinn’s bed, lifting his beer in a toast.

It’s the first time Blaine has ever spoken to him, Kurt realizes. Most of the previous school year had been consumed by Blaine and Quinn’s dance of will-they-won’t-they — too busy passing notes and exchanging glances to pay much mind to anyone outside of their orbit. His hair is less gelled than he’s seen it before, loose curls framed nicely with just the right amount of product — if Kurt says so himself. He wonders if Quinn styled him for the night — he doubts anyone in Lima, Ohio would think to pair such a dashing blue J. Crew polo with the snug khakis he has on. He makes a note to congratulate Quinn on a job well done.

Quinn pushes a red cup into his hands, the same fruity scent on her lips emanating from it in waves. Whatever it is, it’s a lot stronger than the wine coolers they were used to sneaking in between Cheerio practices. Santana appears to be in much higher spirits now that the Blaine and Quinn Show has been interrupted, breaking her eyes away from Blaine to blow Kurt a welcoming kiss.

“Thanks for joining us, Princess of Genovia,” she greets with a regal wave.

“For the record, I’m taking that as a compliment,” Kurt retorts, taking a sip of the drink Quinn handed him and immediately sputtering. “Jesus, what is this? Wine coolers and motor oil?” he balks as he hands the drink off to Brittany who accepts it eagerly.

Santana and Blaine are fighting back chuckles while Quinn huffs at her best friend’s response. “I tried to make us a specialty drink. Don’t be ungrateful, this is top shelf stuff,” Quinn corrects, stealing the cup back from Brittany and handing it back to Kurt firmly.

“More like top shelf at my dad’s shop,” Kurt whispers under his breath as he crosses the room to take his usual spot at Quinn’s vanity.

His whispered comeback isn’t as quiet as he thought though, as Blaine easily picks up on it.

“Your dad owns the auto shop on Main Street, right?” he asks, shifting himself to the edge of the bed.

“Yeah. Why?” Kurt replies, not sure how Blaine hasn’t picked up on the well known fact that Kurt Hummel has a direct relation to **Hummel** Tires and Lube.

“I had to swing by there a couple of times over the summer. My car’s been on its last legs for a while now.”

“B still drives the car his granddad gave him when he turned sixteen — I swear it’s going to fall apart every time I get in it,” Quinn laments, ignoring the eye roll Blaine gives her and the scoff from Santana at the matching nickname. “Kurt, tell him he needs to upgrade to a car from this century,” Quinn commands with a wave of her hand.

“For the safety of my best friend, and your bank account, I’m going to say you should bite the bullet and start taking the bus again,” Kurt says directly to Blaine with a shrug.

“It’s from the nineties, it’s a little banged up but it’s got good bones,” Blaine defends, his cheeks tinged pink.

“Speaking of bones,” Santana interrupts more loudly than necessary, attempting to shift the focus of the room back to anyone that _wasn’t_ the uninvited guest. “That guy from Ohio State sent me a dick pic last night,” she says with a mischievous smirk.

Quinn and Brittany immediately flank her, peaking over her shoulder as she pulls up the photo in question. Kurt rolls his eyes and Blaine wrinkles his nose at the sight. While the girls may love to squeal over the elicit photos they frequently received from the slobbering men they encountered, Kurt preferred not to have to look at photos of anatomy similar to his own.

“Sorry, you’ll have to get used to this,” Kurt excuses on behalf of the girls to Blaine.

“Thanks for the warning,” he murmurs in reply, shaking himself off before turning to Kurt with the same earnest, puppy dog eyes Kurt had thought were reserved for Quinn.

“I think I saw you over the summer — at your dad’s shop.”

Kurt certainly hadn’t noticed Blaine at any point during the select few times he was at the shop over the summer, and he’s not sure how the thought of Blaine seeing him but not saying hello makes him feel. He knows Blaine means well but he can’t help but feel as though he was a prey being watched closely by its predator.

“We had Cheerio practice most days. I only went to the shop maybe a dozen times. You probably saw someone else,” he replies, hoping to keep things casual.

“No way, it was definitely you. Q always talks about great your style is — there’s no way anyone could’ve rocked those coveralls but you,” he insists and Kurt is shocked to say the least.

His custom designed coveralls, adorned with embroidered lilies along the sleeves and a series of tasteful patches along the back, had caused quite a bit of chatter over the years — so much so, in fact, that Burt had politely asked his son to only bring it out when his usual coveralls were all dirty.

“We’re here to focus on cars, bud. This isn’t a runway,” he’d said, which had led to yet another enormous fight — one in a series of enormous fights that had led Kurt to crash at Quinn’s house for a week straight.

“Thank you. My dad kind of hates them actually,” Kurt admits sheepishly, not sure why he’s revealing such a fresh wound to someone he barely knows.

“Well, I’m not one to disrespect my elders, but…” Blaine leans in closer to Kurt, a mischievous smirk playing at his lips, “He’s insane if he doesn’t love them,” Blaine assures, giving Kurt a wink.

With that Blaine lifts himself off the bed and slides on over to the girls, wrapping an arm around Quinn’s waist and whispering something in her ear that makes her blush. In his wake Blaine leaves an open-mouthed Kurt, still reeling and at a complete loss for words. Perhaps it had all been Kurt’s imagination, but Blaine’s words seemed as though they were bordering on something more than just casual conversation. It had seemed… flirty?

No, absolutely not, there was no way Blaine was trying to flirt with him. He was already off whispering what were likely dirty sweet nothings in Quinn’s ear as though his brief conversation with Kurt had never happened. It had been weeks since Kurt had had any kinds of development in the romance section of his life — maybe this was his body’s way of telling him it was starving for male attention. Maybe it was time to redownload Grindr…

Kurt shudders at the thought of revisiting the god-awful app. Santana had convinced him to download it the previous summer after he’d spent too many afternoons moaning and groaning about being the only person on the squad who had never been kissed. Downloading the app had helped him succeed in crossing his first kiss, and a few other intimate items, off of his bucket list — but it hadn’t been without its fair share of drama.

The girls are well ahead of Kurt when it comes to drinks, and thankfully none of them notice when he pours the rest of his own ‘specialty drink’ out the window. They down two more drinks each — Blaine opens up a second beer for himself — and the tension finally begins to melt away. Santana, reinvigorated with each passing sip, forgets that she was angry with Blaine for crashing their ‘girls’ only pre-game in favor of grilling him with a series of blush-worthy questions. Quinn is too busy fretting over Brittany’s makeup to pay them any mind, but Blaine artfully works his way out of answering any of Santana’s prying questions without igniting any of her wrath. Kurt is fine with watching the spectacle unfold, enjoying the way Blaine squirms under Santana’s gaze a bit more than he should.

It seems like Santana finally has Blaine cornered, persistently asking him about his sexual escapades before he transferred to McKinley, when Quinn finally decides to intervene.

“Draw your claws back in, Santana. He’s not one of your chew toys,” Quinn admonishes, swatting her hand at Santana until she’s backed a reasonable distance away from Blaine.

“I’m just giving him the proper “Quinn Fabray’s Latest Boyfriend Treatment.” It wouldn’t be fair to let him slide,” she snaps back, her words all bite and no humor.

Quinn shifts uncomfortably, avoiding the confused look Blaine gives her. It’s no secret that Quinn’s gone through her fair share of boyfriends — Blaine alone was her second boyfriend that year. It was a sensitive topic for Quinn, something she only confided in Kurt about  — that her need for security and love and affection outweighed her insecurities over being seen as the flighty serial boyfriend hopper.

The tension creeps back into the room as everyone carefully thinks through what to say next. Brittany shoots Kurt a pleading look — they both know it’s on them to shift the mood of the room. With the amount of alcohol flowing they’re only seconds away from someone saying something they may regret.

“I think we’ve pre-gamed enough,” Kurt announces loud enough to gather everyone’s attention, standing up and clapping his hands together for good measure. “We’re already bordering on un-fashionably late. Let’s go before the meatheads drink all the good stuff,” he suggests, Brittany nodding enthusiastically.

Typically Kurt hates being stuck as the designated driver — driving around a pack of tipsy high school girls demanding to stick their head out the sun roof and play the same songs over and over could drive anyone insane — but it’s a sacrifice he’s willing to make to keep Quinn and Santana from tearing each other apart before the night has even begun. Blaine, the second most sober person in the room, happily agrees to be the navigator and takes the passenger seat. The tension has mostly dissipated as the girls climb into the backseat together, chattering and giggling amongst themselves and paying their dutiful drivers no mind as they take commemorative selfies in between sharing pieces of gossip.

Blaine, to his credit, is a helpful navigator — keeping his calm the entire drive as he helps keep the girls from getting too rowdy, and even very gracefully convincing Santana not to flash the car beside them when they’re stopped at a red light. When he leans just a tad too far over to look over Kurt’s shoulder at the GPS Kurt tells himself that maybe Blaine’s the type of person who doesn’t have boundaries.

When Blaine accidentally drops his sunglasses on the console between his and Kurt’s seats and brushes his pinky finger against Kurt’s thigh while retrieving said glasses, Kurt tells himself that Blaine is **definitely** the type of person who doesn’t have boundaries.

When Quinn tries to get Kurt to take part in their game of fuck, marry, kill and he refuses so he can focus on getting himself out of the confusing intersection they’ve found themselves in, Blaine comes to his defense when Quinn begins to whine. He placates her by playing along in Kurt’s place and leans across the center console to whisper in Kurt’s ear.

“You’re welcome.”

The whispered words are hot and breathy against Kurt’s ear and he prays that Blaine doesn’t notice the goosebumps that bloom along the skin where his lips had hovered just seconds earlier. These are the first three signs that Blaine Anderson is going to be a problem.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello and welcome back! Thank you so much to everyone that has read/commented/bookmarked/etc thus far - you're all wonderful and kind and I appreciate you all!
> 
> I'm hoping I'll be able to set up a regular posting schedule later down the line, but life is still hectic at the moment as I'm in the process of moving into my new place - so updates may be sporadic for a bit.
> 
> Thank you for reading!

The party is in full swing by the time Kurt pulls up to Finn Hudson’s driveway. Kurt groans as he quickly realizes that he’s several drinks behind everyone at this party, based on the amount of noise emanating from the building alone. Blaine helps Santana and Brittany exit the car without snapping their ankles, and is particularly delicate with Quinn as she nearly trips just two steps out of the car. He wraps an arm firmly around her waist, pulling her in as close as he can — not that she minds. She leans her head on his shoulder and glances up at him with glazed eyes.

“You’re like Prince Charming,” she murmurs just loud enough for Kurt to hear and make Blaine blush. 

He shakes his head, batting off the compliment. “You’re the only fairytale royalty here,” he replies, placing a chaste kiss to the top of her head.

Kurt’s heart aches at the simple but tender display of affection. The glow that always seems to cover them whenever they’re together would be insufferable if they weren’t so goddamned cute together. Kurt makes up a resolution in his mind to forget his earlier prejudices against Blaine. Sure, he may be a bit creepy — but what teenage boy isn’t? Besides, Kurt isn’t exactly the most approachable of people. And sure, Blaine may not have any sense of personal boundaries, but he’s sweet and charismatic, and quite frankly, Kurt’s finding it difficult not to like him. The age old saying was true -- the best ones are either gay or taken, and unfortunately for Kurt, Blaine was the latter.

Thankfully Kurt doesn’t spend much time dwelling on his own loneliness, as the drama of the evening begins the moment they walk in. The first person Santana spots upon entering the Hudson home is an incredibly drunk, and louder than usual (which is saying a lot), Rachel Berry in full command of the karaoke machine in the living room.

“Finn’s never let us do karaoke before,” Brittany says with a pout, taking a step towards the crowd that has gathered around Rachel before Santana roughly yanks her back.

“Finn doesn’t have a karaoke machine. Look at it, Berry brought it herself,” Santana snaps, eyes narrowed to slits.

The small, pink machine is covered in gold stars of various shapes, sizes, and glitter ratios — definitely not something Finn Hudson would own. Rachel’s audience is a combination of fellow glee club members and some lacrosse players that are stoned out of their minds. The glee club kids stand out like sore thumbs — one girl, Mercedes Jones, Kurt recognizes, looks as though she’s fully prepared to die of embarrassment.

“What’re those losers doing here?” Quinn asks when she finally breaks away from Blaine long enough to take in the disastrous sight.

“Alright, this is the last time we’re letting Hudson throw a party. This is supposed to be about us, not the Rachel Berry Power Hour,” Santana shouts, breaking away from the group to seek out Finn.

Kurt and Brittany nervously tail after her. It’s a death wish to get in Santana’s way when she’s walking down the warpath, but as annoyed as they may be about the presence of Rachel Berry and her band of music geeks there’s no need to shed blood this early into the night. Santana finds Finn in the kitchen engaged in a passionate discussion about Pokemon with Mike Chang, another footballer. 

“What’s the deal, Lumps?” Santana throws her arms in the air as she immediately crowds Finn’s space, knocking Mike off to the side. “I thought you said this was a party for us?”

Finn needs a minute to process what Santana’s shouting at him, blinking several times in confusion. “It is… Didn’t you guys see the cake with Quinn’s face on it in the living room?”

Brittany is immediately distracted by the mention of cake and disappears from Santana’s side in search of it. Kurt rolls his eyes as he steps up to take her place, looping an arm through Santana’s to keep her a safe distance from Finn.

“Then why is this place crawling with Lima losers?” Santana spits back, gesturing towards the living room.

“Lima losers?” Finn replies, clearly too many drinks in to be able to keep up with Santana.

“The glee club, dumb ass. You have Rachel Berry in your living room trying to make Bette Midler roll over in her grave.”

“Santana, Bette Midler isn’t dead,” Kurt whispers to her out of the corner of his mouth. He’d promised himself he wouldn’t interject, but he simply can’t let musical theatre inaccuracies slide.

“Who gives a shit!” Santana shouts back in response, ripping her arm away from Kurt. “Now tell them to leave, now!” Santana commands, deftly avoiding Kurt’s attempt to block her from approaching Finn and grabbing the taller boy by the collar.

Kurt rolls his eyes as Santana drags Finn back into the living room, trailing behind them at a leisurely pace. So far this night was shaping up to be an absolute train wreck. Finn’s brain finally managed to get caught up with the program by the time he was forced into the center of the circle of Glee kids. Rachel had finally wrapped up her performance of Ribbons Down My Back and was blinking up at Finn with wide eyes so sweet and innocent it made Kurt want to gag.

Kurt had never particularly minded the Glee club kids -- though he shared a collective sentiment that Rachel Berry was sent straight from hell to torture the already unfortunate souls at McKinley High School. There had been a time when Kurt himself had considered joining the glee club -- but he was already at a high risk of complete social isolation, joining the glee club would’ve been the final proverbial nail in his coffin.

Half of them look scared to death as Santana launches into a half Spanish half English tirade, pointing her finger accusingly at each of them in turn. One boy, the one with the terrible bangs and the wheelchair — Arnie? — looks as though he might wet himself. Kurt feels a pang of guilt for Tina Cohen-Chang, the shy girl from his English class. She may be terribly misguided when it came to fashion, but she seemed sweet enough and was one of the few people in the class who could actually string together a coherent piece of writing.

The club trembles collectively when Rachel, emboldened by whatever drink is being passed around, decides to take a stab at tearing down Santana.There are many rules when it comes to McKinley social etiquette — and king of them all is that no one talks back to Santana Lopez. Rachel barely opens her mouth before Santana is on her, hurling insult after insult until her voice begins to crack. Rachel, to her credit, doesn’t even flinch when Santana’s face is suddenly mere inches from her. Whatever they’re saying is lost as they shout over one another on top of whatever song is already blasting. Finn, the only person in the room with enough physical strength to put an end to this catfight, is standing off to the side slack jawed and eyes blown wide.

“Awesome,” Finn murmurs under his breath when Santana decides to take things to a new level and scratches at Rachel’s chest with her ruby red claws.

Kurt groans for what feels like the hundredth time that night when he realizes things are now in his hands. He grabs the half full red cup in Tina’s hand and approaches Rachel and Santana, intending to pour the drink on them to fizzle them out long enough to get them back under control. He lifts the cup into the air, but before he can take aim Santana is lifted up and hoisted away from Rachel. Blaine, graceful as the wind, props Santana up on his shoulder with ease and carries her off to the other side of the room. Rachel takes this opportunity to catch her breath, but Santana continues on, her voice ringing in the room until Blaine finally manages to get her a safe enough distance away.

“Five minutes and she already started a fight, must be a new record,” Quinn says as she suddenly appears beside Kurt, seeming more put together than she had just moments earlier.

“Well, nice of you to make an appearance at the last possible second,” Kurt replies, meaning it sarcastically but still annoyed by Quinn’s disappearance during the few minutes he needed her most. She had a way with Santana that he and Brittany couldn’t understand — she was the Lopez whisperer.

“I’m not supposed to watch over her 24/7,” Quinn snaps back, easily picking up on the annoyance in Kurt’s voice.

“Where were you anyway?” Kurt asks, crossing his arms across his chest.

Quinn flushes, ducking her eyes away from Kurt as she sheepishly tugs a lock of hair behind her ear. “That’s none of your concern,” she replies with a hiccup, flushing down to the roots of her hair.

Kurt rolls his eyes before walking away from her with a groan. She’d obviously been off having a grand old time with Blaine, abandoning her friends before they’d even entered the party. While Kurt had decided that he didn’t have anything against Blaine, Quinn was particularly difficult to be around when she was in a relationship — which was, unfortunately, most of the time. The minute a boy entered the picture her friends were left at the wayside. Sure, she made time for their weekly hang outs and still spent most of her time with them at Cheerio practice, but she snatched up every opportunity she could to spend time with her beaus, even if it meant cancelling on long held plans last minute.

Kurt heads back to the kitchen in hopes of distracting himself with some much needed alcohol. The specialty drink of the evening is questionable at best, smelling of nail polish remover and pineapple juice, but it’ll have to do. Kurt can quickly see how the party got so out of hand so quickly, the drink hits him like a ton of bricks and within minutes he’s feeling the tension roll off of his shoulders. His inhibitions begin to blur at the edges and each sip of the strange drink makes him bolder and bolder.

Eventually Kurt finds his way back to Santana and Brittany. He caught sight of them on the other side of the living room trapped in a conversation with Jacob Ben Israel, and swept them away to safety by claiming he needed them for a ‘girls-only emergency.’ Santana had calmed down after her cat fight with Rachel Berry. Their respective groups of friends did their best to keep the two as far from each other as possible.

Blaine had won his way back into Santana’s good graces in the aftermath of the screaming match. He’d carried her off into one of the open bedrooms and sat with her until she’d calmed down, listening to her rant about losers cramping her style and handing her glasses of water whenever necessary.

“The Hobbit can stay,” Santana decrees as she recounts everything to Kurt.

“I hope Quinn lets him stay,” Brittany muses, gazing at Blaine over the rim of her cup.

The group collectively glance at Blaine who’s on the opposite side of the room, engrossed in his animated conversation with Sam Evans. Quinn had one rule in her relationships and it was that she was never dumped, she always did the dumping. Finn had been no exception. They'd been together for nearly a year, the longest relationship she’d been in thus far — but after Christmas she decided to call it quits, claiming that she couldn’t see a future with someone like him.

Blaine certainly checked off her preliminary boxes. His social status was up to par with her own, he was more put together than the rest of the slobbering boneheads at McKinley, and he had all the charm and good looks of a Disney prince. 

“How long do you think it’ll last?” Kurt asks once they’re able to pry their eyes away from Blaine.

Santana shrugs, taking another sip of her drink. “Hard to say. He’s definitely better than Hudson, but Quinn tends to make the worst possible decisions when it comes to men,” she says and Brittany nods in agreement.

Kurt shrugs — he knows that she’s right. Blaine’s future most likely entailed having his sweet little heart broken by Quinn within the year. It was a shame, really. He’s far more useful than any of the other guys Quinn has dated — at least he can drive.

“Maybe they’ll get married,” Brittany suggests with a dreamy smile.

Kurt raises a brow at the thought. He wouldn't put it past Quinn to marry a high school sweetheart, and certainly wouldn’t put it past her to start planning her wedding while in high school. It was too soon to tell if Blaine was marriage material — it had taken Quinn nearly a year to realize Finn wasn't up for the job. But if her parents caught wind of her and Blaine’s ‘after school activities’ a wedding would definitely be on the table sooner than anticipated. The Fabrays had their fair share of scandals throughout the years, but above all else they were praised for their piety. They were religious to a fault, and Quinn, while lax in some of her beliefs, wasn’t far behind them in that respect.

“Weddings are for suckers and desperate housewife wannabes,” Santana says with a snort before downing the rest of her drink.

Brittany frowns, toying with her cup mindlessly before looking over to where Quinn is chatting with some of their fellow Cheerios.

“I think Quinn would look really pretty in a wedding dress,” Brittany says with a shy smile.

Before Santana or Kurt can respond Finn Hudson comes tumbling into the room, carrying a handle of tequila in one hand and an empty beer bottle in the other. After the incident with Rachel and Santana earlier Finn had thrown himself off the deep end, choosing to get completely shit-faced instead of dealing with any of the problems at hand, letting the party begin to get out of control at a steady rate.

“Everyone get to the basement, it’s time for spin the bottle!” Finn announces to the crowd in the living room, several people exchanging curious looks before heading for the basement.

“What’re we in middle school?” Kurt says with a scoff, startled to find Santana, Brittany, and Quinn all headed for the basement. “Are you guys kidding me?” he calls out to his friends.

“Hey, it’s an excuse to get my sweet lady kisses on,” Santana says with a wink, linking her pinky through Brittany’s.

Quinn shrugs before looping her arm through Kurt’s, pulling him towards the wave of people heading downstairs. “C’mon, you know spin the bottle always creates the best gossip,” she teases with a smirk.

Kurt bites his lip before giving in and letting Quinn pull him along. The level of drunkenness in the room, plus the odd mix of McKinley royalty and McKinley social outcasts would make for a _very_ interesting round of spin the bottle.

Typically Kurt would prefer to sit out of games like spin the bottle — it was a harsh reminder that his sexuality was still the butt of far too many jokes. Girls would sigh in relief when their bottles landed on him — he was always the safest option in the room, and boys would lament with over-exaggeration that there was _no way_ they were going to kiss another boy. It really was like playing with middle schoolers.

But Kurt was feeling bold that evening. He wasn’t sure if it was the overpowering speciality drink loosening his moral compass, or the nagging feeling of being left out, or the unfamiliar boy he’d spotted earlier in the kitchen who he could have swore was sneaking peaks at him from over his friends’ shoulders — but whatever it was, Kurt decides to play.

Kurt, Quinn, Santana, and Brittany sit down on the floor together, knees touching as they crowd together to make room for everyone around them. It’s by far the largest game Kurt has witnessed, with nearly 40 participants. Kurt grimaces at the sight of Dave Karofsky joining the circle, praying to a God he doesn’t even believe in that he gets anyone — even Rachel Berry — over Karofsky. There was always something about him that made Kurt uncomfortable. It always seemed as though his gaze lingered over Kurt for just a second too long when they crossed paths during football games or in the locker room. 

“Alright, my house, my rules,” Finn says adamantly as he takes center stage. “Rule number one: if you don’t kiss whoever the bottle lands on, you’ve gotta take a shot.” He holds up the handle of tequila for emphasis, grinning as the crowd around him nods in understanding. “Rule number two: no couples, that’s lame. If the bottle lands on someone you’re dating it automatically switches to whoever’s on their right.”

Quinn frowns at this, admittedly unusual, rule. Blaine shoots her a sympathetic shrug from his place across the circle. Mike Chang leans over to nudge Blaine jokingly in the ribs, Blaine brushing him off with flushed cheeks.

“Sure seems like an unfair rule,” Quinn mutters under her breath, glaring up at Finn who’s still relishing his moment as the center of attention.

“He’s just trying to rile you up, don’t take the bait,” Kurt replies, patting Quinn’s hand. “You’re better than that,” he assures with a smile.

Quinn squeezes his hand in return, giving him a grateful smile before returning her attention to Finn’s remaining rules. It was no secret that Finn had been hurt by Quinn’s relationship with Blaine becoming official only a few months after their breakup. Finn wasn’t the brightest, and was definitely lacking in the emotional intelligence department — which led to childish attempts to get back at Quinn instead of handling things like an adult.

The game starts off innocent enough. Tina Cohen-Chang lands on Mike Chang and they share a sweet kiss that leaves them both blushing and sharing nervous glances for the remainder of the game. Santana lands on Sam Evans and they share a surprisingly steamy kiss, the two breaking apart when the briefest flash of tongues appeared. 

“Trouty mouth’s got game,” Santana teases loud enough for all to hear as she settles back into her seat with a triumphant smirk. Sam grins as he’s patted on the back by his friends.

Rachel Berry’s breath hitches during her own turn, biting down roughly on her lip as she watches the bottle with wide eyes. She lets out an excited squeal when the bottle lands on Finn, clamping her hand over her mouth in embarrassment as the group snickers at her reaction. Finn glances nervously at Quinn, who averts her gaze as the two make their way to one another. Their kiss is more passionate than expected, the two going back for a second kiss after the first, and nearly going for a third when Santana clears her throat to get their attention.

“Cool it, or else you might suck out her precious vocal chords,” Santana calls out. Rachel is too overwhelmed by the kiss to respond to Santana, returning to her seat in a Finn-centric fog.

“Figures,” Quinn whispers under her breath at the moony eyed look on Finn’s face as he gazes at Rachel. 

She doesn’t have much time to stew on Finn and Rachel’s display, as Blaine is up next. He winks at Quinn as he steps up and twirls the bottle with a flourish. Kurt can sense the tension in the air as the bottle spins on and on and on for what feels like an eternity. Quinn’s fingers curl into knuckles as it begins to slow down, looking for a second as though it’s going to land on Rachel, only for it to gracefully slide to a halt directly in front of Quinn herself. The group erupts into cheers and taunts, Blaine’s teammates razzing him as Quinn rolls her eyes at the spectacle.

“So close, sorry man,” Mike teases as he pats Blaine on the back hard enough to make him wince.

Kurt swallows hard when Quinn turns to him with a soft smile, realizing that he’s sitting to Quinn’s right, which means Blaine has to kiss _him._

“I’m glad it’s you. If it was anyone else and I would’ve been a wreck for the rest of the night,” Quinn whispers to him, squeezing his arm as she urges him to meet Blaine in the center of the circle.

“Watch out, Fabray. Hummel might try to steal your man,” Karofsky teases loud enough for everyone to hear and join in on the laughter, Kurt trying to tell himself that it doesn’t hurt when Santana and Brittany laugh along.

Quinn, graceful as always, chooses not to respond. She rolls her eyes at Karofsky and takes a long sip of her drink instead. Kurt notices that Blaine doesn’t laugh at Karofsky’s joke. It’s a small comfort moments before he’s going to make a fool of himself, Kurt muses internally.

Kurt decides to put them both out of their misery and places a lightning quick kiss to Blaine’s cheek, already headed back to his seat before Blaine can even process what’s happened. The crowd boos the display, mocking Kurt for his cowardice.

“C’mon, Lady Lips, you’re better than that!” Santana taunts, blocking Kurt from returning to his seat. 

“Oh for the love of—” 

Kurt is cut off by a hand firmly wrapping around his arm and turning him back around. Another hand is on the back of his neck and suddenly lips are crashing against his. He lets out a squeak of surprise, his eyes remaining open in shock for another second before his brain can catch up with his body. He relaxes as he feels the hand on his arm slide down to grip his waist, holding him steady. The kiss is warm and sure and their lips slot so perfectly together. There’s no bumping of teeth or readjusting of mouths or weird saliva exchange. Simply put, it’s perfect. Perfect in the technical sense, and so much more. 

Kurt doesn’t believe in kissing, if he’s being totally honest. He often finds it awkward, and gross, and a pointless dance that he’d rather cut entirely if it means getting to the chase. But this moment is enough to bring back his faith in kissing. Maybe some kisses are worthwhile.

They pull apart with a wet smack and Kurt slowly opens his eyes to confirm that yes, Blaine was the owner of those lips and wow had he ever noticed how nice and plump and pink Blaine’s lips were before? How is Quinn able to get any work done when Blaine is around? How does she keep herself from melting every time he leans in to kiss her?

“You deserved the full Blaine Anderson treatment,” Blaine teases as he releases his hold on Kurt’s waist, finally knocking Kurt out of his daze. 

“Right. Yeah. Thanks,” Kurt replies, mentally berating himself for sounding like an absolute idiot as he stumbles back to his seat.

The girls are holding back giggles as he rejoins them, Quinn nudging her shoulder against his. “Isn’t he a great kisser?” she asks with a grin.

Kurt smiles and nods, not trusting himself to put together coherent sentences just yet. Besides, there’s no graceful way to tell your best friend that her boyfriend has just given you the most mind-blowing kiss you’ve ever experienced.

“You’re one lucky woman, Quinn Fabray,” Kurt finally replies.

His words aren’t loud enough for Quinn to hear, but he doesn’t bother repeating them. Instead he glances over at Blaine across the room, and feels his heart jump when Blaine locks eyes with him moments later. He tells himself that he imagines the wink Blaine sends him before returning his attention back to the game — but he lets one small, tiny part of himself hold onto the hope that maybe, just maybe, his mind wasn’t playing tricks on him.


End file.
